Snowdrifts were on either side of the road, pushed aside by carts or horses. Overhead, a breeze brushed the snow from the pines and sent them drifting downward. Lucile brushed the snow from her hair, and her other hand tightened on the reigns of her horse as she looks around the woodland. It was growing dark, and up ahead was the familiar traveler’s cabin she would use on every excursion like this. It was another half day’s ride to the next village, and she neither wanted to ride through the night or regret having left later in the day from her own.
The cabin itself was snow-covered as well. There were no prints to mar the snow about it, either of man or beast. Travel was little in these days, dangerous as the roads were. It was a small place, though large enough to fit a bed, kitchenette, and a fireplace. She brought her horse to a stop outside of it, and took the time to take off its saddle, lay a blanket over its back, and tie the reigns to the hitching post outside the cabin.